Conversation With Fists
by DewdropLotus
Summary: There is something untamed and ungodly about you. You should be a sin. An intoxicating, irresistible sin. YULLENWEEK -COMPLETE
1. F Words Part One

_A series of mini stories, narratives, and various perspectives for YULLEN week!  
>I'm currently busy with my main story, so I can't do anything too involved. If you want involved, go check that one out. This one is more along the drabbles lines. Each chapter will be a different day!<em>

**_Day 1   
><span>Theme: SilenceVoiceless  
><em>**

**F Words**_  
>Part one<em>

All we ever do is **fuck** and **fight**. In no particular order, of course. Sometimes we brawl mercilessly—your fists brutalizing my body, while my fingers threaten to pull that black hair out of your head. Other times, my brain is busy reeling at how your eyes can be so cold, yet your body so unbelievably hot, to the point we reach our melting points and bleed together—seamlessly.

We are like fire and ice.

You are **frigid** and reclusive. You don't talk to people and they don't talk to you unless they want to be on the receiving end of that delectably barbed tongue. You know, when I arrived at the Black Order, I was still innocent to the real cruelty of reality. That's kind of funny, considering what I'd been through. Reality had never given me you until then, though. Reality showed me that you were the true object of my suffering. That barbed tongue bit into my soul every time you let your venomous words lash at me.

Yet some how, we ended up here.

You move like liquid grace somehow blended with animalistic brutality. There is something untamed and _ungodly_ about you. You should be a sin. An intoxicating, irresistible sin. I used to think I was pure. My mind never drifted to the things you make me drift to. You lit my **fire**.

I let you pin me down beneath you. Because it excites me. The feel of your long black hair dancing over my skin…your hands brutalizing my skin in that strange, almost lover-esque manner. We aren't lovers, though.

No.

Lovers don't beg to be **fucked** without mercy.

Lovers don't fling words of scorn.

Lovers don't hurt each other so completely.

Lovers don't hide their companionship like it's a disease.

Yet, somewhere in the dead air between us—between the words neither of us speak—there's something there. I'm not going to bring it to light and neither are you. If I won't speak, I know you won't. Quiet space between us is all we need now. We're two stupid, horny teenagers looking for something to fill the emptiness.

It just so happens that the half of me that I need is the half that you have and that I fill the empty part of you.

It's a simple coincidence. Nothing more.


	2. F Words Part Two

_A/N: Day Two of Yullen Week. _

_Theme: Silence/Voiceless._

* * *

><p><strong>F Words<strong>  
><em>Part 2<em>

You are some kind of piece of art.

There's a **formula **to you that I've yet to completely unravel. It makes you more interesting—however. The way you weave the **few **words you speak, is like sewing **finality** into your convictions.

Most of the time, you are trapped within yourself. You aren't often going to tell people what you are thinking or **feeling.** You consider it a weakness. You simply do as you do and no one really has much to say about it. You do not have to explain yourself, because there is nothing to explain. If they don't understand you, then they are simply not trying hard enough.

I'm somewhat jealous of this.

I care too much.

You don't care enough.

Somewhere, we meet in the middle and create a balance that is conflicting and complementing.

Sometimes I think you are incapable of experiencing emotions as normal people do. You talk to me through your **fists**. Wordless exchanges that I'm happy to return, until we're both screaming, spitting blood and breathless. Because of this, sometimes I don't feel like you can love at all.

Then you do things that surprise me.

In my ear is a simple black studded earring. It's not extravagant. It's not outwardly noticeable or even special.

But you gave it to me.

And you wear the other one in your opposite ear.

Together we have a pair. It's like holding hands without **fingers** touching. It's like kissing without the sensation of your lips on mine. From you, it's like giving me the world. From you, it's like writing **forever** on your heart.

Nothing has to be said out loud.

This transition from barely **friends**, to **fuckbuddies**, to lovers was done without a spoken word.

Simple gestures and the way you paint your soul on the backs of your hands was enough to bring you down with me.

The way we blend…perhaps it's not a coincidence at all.

But I prefer to think it was.

That way I can gloat that I'm the reason that you are no longer **frozen.**


	3. Wounds Part One

**_Day 3_**  
><em>Theme: Shadow<em>

**Wounds**_  
>Part One<em>

He doesn't notice the trail behind him. Every step creates clicks against the polished marble—stone floors he's always hated because they don't agree with the heels of his boots. The marble glistens up at him, while he shuffles numbly over it. He's not thinking. It's too much effort and he's much too tired to wrap his head around anything at the moment.

The dull, aching pain that fills his senses is pushed back by force. If he doesn't let it bother him, then it will be gone without any issues. He's taken wounds that would kill a weaker man—or rather, a man with a normal body. He's okay with that, though. It feeds his ego to know he can't be killed by any ordinary means. His enemies would have to go out of their way to bring him down and he was still likely to get back up after.

So the red that trails behind him is forgotten, if he was even aware of it at all. It splashes against the darkness of his form. Everything about him is dark; his eyes, hair, and the clothing that hugs his body. He's comparable to the grim reaper, some people would say. Silent and fearsome, yet almost poetically haunting.

He believes in the power of his own hand, but even he sometimes falters.

The door knob gives in when he presses the length of his body to the door and twists it. He can barely see, cloaked in the darkness that protects him from the gaze of those who wouldn't understand why he was doing what he was doing. He shuts the door behind him, staggering in the dark. Not fumbling from the sightlessness that he's plagued with, but the cause of the warm fluid that soaks into his white shirt under his jacket.

Burning sensations in his legs cause him to nearly give out and take up residence on the floor. His brain can only think about the feeling of the cold stone and how it almost seems appealing. Consciousness slipping in and out and he just wants to sleep until the wound disappears.

"K…Kanda?"

He hears the voice in the haven of darkness. He knows this isn't his room. Even in the dark, he could feel the difference in the living space. This room is warm, welcoming and always left unlocked for him when he's due to return in the dead of night.

"Oh god, you're wounded… Let me ge—"

"Will you shut up, beansprout?" His choice was just above a whisper and cracked, but he was heard. "I just…need sleep." He leaned into the younger boy's hold and drifted, thankful for the darkness that embraced them both.

* * *

><p>Thanks for the reviews guys! They're short, but they're enjoyable to write. I hope they're enjoyable to read!<p> 


	4. Wounds Part Two

_Day Four_  
><em>Theme: Shadow<em>

**Wounds**_  
>Part Two<em>

Despite always coming back with wounds and blood caked to every exposed inch of skin, Kanda didn't have a single scar on him. It was perplexing as well as almost mystical. It was like it was some kind of super human. Allen had tended his fair share of that man's wounds and every time, it seemed almost surreal to find that wound completely gone by the break of the next day.

It was also convenient at times, when Allen bit a little too hard or his nails dug a little too deep. The marks were gone shortly and no questions had to be asked. He never felt too bad about socking the man in the face, breaking his nose once or twice—he was certain of that. He was okay with being the cause of his wounds, but he always despised seeing those deep horrific wounds he didn't create, like shadows on his body.

Even though they healed so quickly, they always seemed to be replaced the moment the old ones vanish. It was like the setting of the sun on his body. The time he was hurt seemed almost longer than his healthy days.

He brushed his fingers over the hot forehead of the man currently bleeding all over his bed. Once upon a time, that would have either concerned him or made him mad. Now it was simply something he'd come to expect. He didn't dress the wounds most of the time; he found it to be a waste of resources when Kanda had been dead against being bandaged anyway. Sometimes, he didn't even bother to undress the man.

He was simply his support when a mission went rough. It was only late, when the lightness night held everyone in the clutches of sleep. By morning, Kanda would be gone, taking the bloodied sheets with him—surprisingly a courteous act for the man.

It was like he never even existed there in the first place. He vanished with the light, sinking into the shadows.

That's how Allen liked it though.

No questions were asked. He didn't have to lie about not knowing where Kanda was. He simply let him come and go like a wave.

Sometimes, he came to Allen with a different kind of wound. It couldn't be seen on his body. Flawless skin was like porcelain. These wounds were on his splintering pride. It was one thing, to crawl to his room in the middle of the night while bleeding profusely and tired to the point of collapse.

It was an entirely different thing to crawl to that room simply out of want. It was in these moments that Allen could reach out and dispel the shadow that was Kanda and touch the man beneath the veil.

Kanda's greatest weakness was being human with a vulnerable heart. And Allen was not one to pull punches.

* * *

><p><em>AN: Thank you for the kind thoughts! I think I write too much. Haha!_


	5. Sense of Touch Part One

****_Day 5  
>Theme: Fingertips<br>_

**Sense of Touch**  
><em>Part One<em>

Missions lasted for days, sometimes weeks. Sometimes, they only saw each other in passing. A pretend scowl passed from one face to the other, hiding the deeper companionship beneath. Sometimes, they missed each other by hours or even mere minutes. It was simply the side effect of their duties.

But other times, they sat across from one another on the train. Reading over the current mission details, they let the tension build until someone snapped. Harsh words spilled out and occasionally fists got tangled in the mess until they were heaped on the floor—one possibly choking the other.

"Stupid beansprout," a growl slipped.

"BaKanda!" The reply crept between them.

Mouths clashed in a fight for dominance that never seemed to be resolved. There was never a winner and neither of them suspected there would be a winner with how they were. They didn't really care once fingers moved over each other. All four hands were coarse from hard work and abuse. Yet, it seemed to go unnoticed.

The train ride was always several hours long. It was more time than they had under usual circumstances. When their Finder was present just outside the door, they were quiet, like whispers. When they were surely alone, they exchanged heated words and growls—devouring each other like it was the last chance. It always could be the last chance.

When the train stopped and the door slid open, it appeared as if nothing happened. Both passengers looked as immaculate as they did going in. No one would be the wiser. No one could see the marks left in the younger man's shoulder, or the way the older man's white shirt was misplaced by one button under his jacket.

They continued their mission like there hadn't been a thing between them.

"You're being too reckless, BaKanda."

"You're being too slow, idiot. It's getting away."

They danced around each other, weapons drawn. They fight together like they are a single unit—extensions of one another. Neither will admit it out loud, but both of them secretly enjoy that they do not need to coordinate movements. They are already in sync.

And when they leave the battlefield—bloody and cleansed of the demons they seek—they share the briefest of smirks at their mission accomplished.

They return on the same route they arrived in, the same train compartment, and they share the same untamed span of hours before they're back to wondering when they will see each other again.

They tolerate the separation, because as they part ways…they can both still feel the lingering sensations of fingertips.


	6. Sense of Touch Part Two

Day 6  
>Theme: Fingertips.<strong><br>**

**Sense of Touch**_  
>Part Two<em>

One finger trails another down the base of his companion's spine. The shiver he gets as his reward, draws a smile to his face. He can't help but feel elated that a breath follows—something akin to a sigh. Whether it's intentional or not, he doesn't know, but he takes pleasure in the response nonetheless.

"I was sleeping," the man draped down the length of his body murmurs.

"I saw that."

A small sound of indignation filters into the silence of the room and the man lets out a harmless, "Stupid beansprout."

"I didn't know just that would wake you up," he goes on, his arms embracing the body resting over him. His fingers continue to tease down his exposed back, wrapping around long strands of black hair. He finds it fascinating, feeling the muscles twitch—sensitive to his ministrations.

"Well it did." The sleep laced voice is almost pleasant—well, pleasant for him anyway. They are still basking in the calm aftermath of a union that should have been considered abuse from the way they went about it. There will probably be bruises somewhere in all that, and he is still trying to think of excuses for his probable limp.

It's a hazy kind of feel-good. They lay chest to chest, simply breathing in each other. There is something oxymoronic about it, but complaints aren't being made. He is content just feeling the smooth skin under his fingers. The body pressed flush against his stirs a bit and he feels lips against his neck. It sends a delightful tingle up his spine. This causes him to press his nails into the man's skin, gently raking them up his back.

"You're asking for another round, beansprout."

A delectable murmur passes his lips, "is that a threat, BaKanda?"

"No." Teeth rake across exposed flesh and a growl reverberates along his throat. "It's a guarantee. It's your punishment for waking me up."

"Punishment, hmm?"

"I hope you've thought of an excuse."

"I'll think of something," he whispers, fingers teasing along the defined muscles. "I have til morning, don't I?"

He shivers at the smirk he's given before his partner's lips cover his own, parting only long enough to speak promise filled words, "if I give you that much time for coherent thought."

Suddenly he's grateful that his partner is a light sleeper.


	7. The Glass Cage Part One

_Got a lil behind, whoops._

_Day 7_  
><em>Theme: MirrorReflection_

**The Glass Cage**_  
>Part One<em>

Kanda has perfected the art of fixing his hair blindly. He'd learned through years of practice how to make himself look perfectly presentable without needing to see himself. He found it unnecessary to devote any amount of time to it anyway, so he continued on about his daily routine avoiding mirrors as necessary.

It was a subconscious action.

He just did it.

No one really noticed how he never looked out a window where his reflection would bounce back at him. No one noticed how the window in his room had stained glass and was cracked—hazing out any accidental reflections.

If they did notice, they surely didn't bring it up to him. He wasn't a very pleasant person anyway, so antagonizing him wasn't on anyone's list of things to do. Only Lavi was brave enough to challenge the mighty fists of Kanda and even he put his hands up in defense when the man's fiery temper exploded beyond control.

So when Kanda refused to look a mirror in the eye, it was left a mystery. They couldn't see what he saw. They saw a pretty, bitchy man with more power than someone of his temperament really should have. He saw an ugly monster that was just biding its time until death finally relieved it of its shitty existence. The cold, calculating eyes they saw, where the dead, broken ones he saw.

Perhaps that was why he hated Allen Walker to much. Because that kid was everything he despised. His eyes always averted Allen's, not wanting to meet eyes with the cursed boy.

He hated mirrors, after all.


	8. The Glass Cage Part Two

_Got a lil behind, whoops._

_Day 8_  
><em>Theme: MirrorReflection_

**The Glass Cage**_  
>Part Two<em>

Every time Allen passed any reflective surface, he saw an eerie shadow looming over him. Over time, he'd somewhat gotten used to it. He even took moments out of his day to stop and make faces at the toothy—creepy—smile. He was not okay with it, he was just accepting. He'd never been fond of his reflection. He looks unnatural and it's not something he could easily hide.

But there was something he did like about those reflective surfaces. He could discreetly watch the people around him. He could see Lavi making lovesick faces at Lenalee when she was not looking and he could see Lenalee always reaching for his hand, but backing out at the last moment. Komui would have a fit, but Allen thought they would be perfect…if the Black Order didn't exist and Lavi wasn't a bookman in training.

On the other hand, he also saw things that broke his heart.

Namely, Kanda.

If he was pressed in a corner, he probably still wouldn't admit that he felt a little pang of…well, something for him. It wasn't pity…or sympathy. But it was a melancholic feeling. Never once had he been caught watching that dark haired man, because that man never once looked up.

Allen wasn't a nosy person by nature, but he did want to know why. He was curious why that man would rather stare in any other direction. He wanted to understand what caused him to purposefully redirect his actions or even open a window to lift the glass.

It almost seemed like the man was stuck in a glass cage.

As a fellow residence of the glass cage, he had an insatiable urge to reach out. He never did, however, because that imprisoned man would never even look him in the eyes long enough to know he wasn't alone.


	9. Through Teeth Part One

_lol, I got too into my other story I let this one…die. _

_Day 9  
>Theme: Lies<em>

**Through Teeth**_  
>Part One<em>

"Come up with an excuse."

"An excuse? These look like teeth marks, BaKanda! 'They're bug bites' isn't going to fool anyone. We've exhausted most of our lies." Allen growled, rearranging his clothing to look more presentable. He noticed the mark and made a face, trying to figure out why he'd allowed this man to put teeth imprints that high into his neck.

Kanda sneered back, looking for his boots somewhere in the haphazard mess of Allen's room. "You bit me first, you little fucker."

"Because your marks go away!"

"So? You put blood all over my white shirt. How am I supposed to explain blood?"

"Easy, I'll just punch you in the nose and they'll know!"

The two of them glared at each other, electricity nearly forming between them as they absently continued putting their clothes back on. The sun had just barely started to put light in the sky and they really didn't have a whole lot of time to fix up their sex-induced flurry. Allen's sheets would just have to be washed later.

"Like hell you will."

"Don't test me, BaKanda."

"Tch. I'm not threatened by beansprouts." Kanda dismissed him, unknowingly flipping his hair into Allen's face when he prepared it to be bound up. He tied the strands back snugly and shooed Timcanpy away.

Allen's fingers reached out and brushed through the tail end of the man's ponytail. He admired the strands for a moment and the silky feel of his hair, before he wrapped his fingers around a clump and pulled mercilessly back on it, earning a disgruntled yap from the hair's owner. He grinned to himself and pulled the man almost off his feet, holding him up with his stronger arm enough to lean down and give him a bruising kiss. His fingers pressing into the man's neck and kept him in place long enough to leave him breathless.

A flicker of anger passed Kanda's face once the moment passed and he righted himself, threatening Allen with the sharp end of Mugen. Allen forfeited with his hands up. "I told you not to test me, BaKanda."

"Get out."

"It's my room!"

"I don't care! Get the hell out!" Kanda kicked the brat toward the door, following him after.

"So rude…" Allen shook his head and exited the room, leaving it open for his partner in crime.

They separated like usual, going about their business until they _accidentally _found themselves at the breakfast table—several seats apart, but there together nonetheless.

"Hey Allen…what's that mark on your neck?"

Allen's face paled, trying not to cast a glance at Kanda. The word _karma_ kept running through his mind as he imagined Kanda laughing that he deserved it after he'd almost pulled his hair out. He opened his mouth to say something, but was cut off.

"I stabbed him with a fork," Kanda lied through his teeth in Allen's place.

Several pairs of eyes fell on him and all Allen could think was, _this is the kind of LIE you come up with! _

And sadly, Allen thought it was pretty believable.


	10. Through Teeth Part Two

_For some reason, I'm always afraid of dialogue heavy stories, so I'ma try one. _

_Day 10  
>Theme: Lies<em>

**Through Teeth**_  
>Part Two<em>

"Leave me alone, idiot."

"Come on, Yuu. Tell me!~"

"No, go the hell away, you nuisance."

"Not until you tell me."

"I'm telling you nothing about anything."

"You're walking like you're _happy!_ I need to know what created this!"

With this, the annoyed man grasped the redhead's collar and tightened his fists, pulling the fabric painfully about the man's neck. "I said go away."

"Yuuuuuuuu, ever since you got back from the mission, you've been pleasant!"

"This is not my pleasant face."

"Yes it is!" Lavi reached out and poked Kanda's cheek, earning a scathing glare that threatened to consume his soul, chew it up and spit it back out. "You haven't picked a fight with any Finders, you actually said a greeting to Lenalee, and I'm still in one piece! What the hell happened!"

"Why do you care?"

"I really don't~"

"Then you don't need to know," Kanda let go of his hold, and subsequently dropped Lavi back on his rear.

"Yes I do!"

Kanda made a combination expression of a sneer and frown, "I could make up any bullshit answer and it would matter just the same."

"But you're terrible at lying anyway!"

"If you say so."

"Try me!"

"Okay, if you're so keen on getting this information out of me." He cornered the now standing man against the wall, with his serious face on. "You see, while beansprout and I were on our mission, we got a little bored waiting at the inn and he just couldn't keep his hands to himself—or his mouth. We fucked like animals til morning and then did it again after the sun came up. We went and killed some Akuma, retrieved and innocence, then went back to the Inn and ruined that bedroom. Good enough for you?"

Lavi stared, not even able to comprehend half of it at first, before his brain slowly dropped the pieces in and he let it swim around in there until the little fishies in his head hooked on the appropriate lines. "I…told you….you suck at lying. But wow, I give you a 9 for shock value."

"Now if you'll excuse me, I have to go suck off Allen."

And with that Kanda left, looking smug as hell, knowing he didn't have to actually lie and he managed an effective "lie". How that worked logically, he wasn't going to question.

"I change that to a 10…!" Lavi stared.


	11. Ribbons and Razors Part One

_Lol, like, only a week late. And Yes, I will complete the full collection of themes, even if I'm later than hell.  
>Theme: PrideHonor_

**Ribbons and Razors**_  
>Part One<em>

Kanda isn't very particular about much, Allen noted. He watched the man go about his business with a casual schedule that didn't seem to be prone to strictness. He'd eat when he wanted. He'd train when he wanted. He meditated in the morning—but the hours were never exact. He did what he wanted at the times that suited him best. The man had no particular dress code either. In fact, he could even be considered fashionably dead from the neck up—at least that's what Allen thought every time Kanda wore that sweater with the calf-high pant legs.

But if there was one particular thing he took great care in, it was his hair. No one else seemed to notice, but Allen had seen how he moved almost as if he was taking the flow of his hair into consideration. When he turned his head, he did so in such a fashion that his eyes would move first and create the illusion of a sharp turn. Doing this kept his precious locks from whipping around.

Not once had Allen really seen his hair in tangles and from what he'd absently witnessed, the man washed his hair with more care than he'd admit to.

So when his fingers moved out to run through the locks that had trailed over into his path, he expected the sharp, hostile retort. The man's body went rigid and before he could give that illusionary whip around, Allen had already snaked his hands up to run his digits through his unbound hair, caressing from the scalp.

His tongue cut like a sharp edge, but he didn't move. Allen knew the angry words are his way of keeping up his appearances. There wasn't a witness in sight, so there wasn't much harm in it. But for the sake of his ego, Kanda was determined to lace barbed wires into his growling.

When Allen had finally decided he'd had his fill of the silky strands over his calloused hands, he let go and smiled at the man.

Kanda's eyes shaped to contempt, but held something else in them entirely. The older exorcist finally turned and stormed passed him; leaving Allen to wonder exactly what he'd just seen.


	12. Ribbons and Razors Part Two

_Theme: Pride/Honor  
>OTL this was meant to be less than a page long.<em>

**Ribbons and Razors**_  
>Part Two<em>

"What do you get for someone who hates your guts?"

"Uh…well, certainly not any type of weapon."

"Lavi, I'm being serious."

The redhead sat back and thought about it, "well, who on Earth hates you anyway, beansprout?"

"It's _Allen_."

"That's beside the point, who hates you? Better yet, if you believed this person hates you…then why would you want to get them something?"

"Kanda." Allen answered, resting his head on his hand. "He hates me. But I don't hate him and I found out his birthday is coming up."

"Ah, he doesn't really do the birthday thing, there beansprout—"

"_ALLEN_," he corrected again. "Well, then I'll just get it for him early or something. Even if he hates me, maybe he'll appreciate the gesture."

"He doesn't hate you, you know."

Allen blinked at him, disbelievingly, "Just like he doesn't hate you?"

"He doesn't hate me, he _loathes_ me. There's a difference."

"Right."

"Tell ya what, get him a ribbon," Lavi grinned and gestured to his head around the way Kanda would tie his hair.

"A ribbon?"

"Ya. He ties his hair back with them. As long as you don't pick a pretty pink one, he'll use it."

"Not if it's from me."

"Try it. I promise you. He will use it. You should even put your name on it too. Let him know it's from you and I will bet you he wears it."

"We'll see Lavi."

Allen briskly left Lavi in the dining hall and did just that. He wasn't exactly too sure about the whole idea. Perhaps a hair ribbon seemed a little emasculating? Well, to him anyway. Allen didn't have long flowing locks that probably felt like an ocean of silk, either. So he really didn't have a clue. The redhead seemed to think it was an idea worth acting on, so he took it and ran with it. If Kanda came at him with Mugen drawn and itching for blood, then he would throw the blame on Lavi in a heartbeat. He was just in that kind of mood.

Meandering around town, he did eventually come across one he didn't find to be too girly and as he stood in front of Kanda's door—trying to will himself to leave it—he wondered if Kanda would hate the color. It was more like a threaded rope with a deep violet jewel at each end, accented by tassels. He thought it was handsome and it would work very well with his chosen hair style. '

Kanda…might think he was trying to offend him and rip his innards out and spread it like confetti.

So he wrapped it around the door handle with a small tag that simply said "from Allen."

And he walked away.

With every bone, muscle, nerve….everything ever, screaming at him to go back, take it and hide under a rock.

He shook it off when he saw the man in question pass him. His heart jumped in his throat and he ducked into his room just after.

When several minutes passed, he realized he wasn't going to have an angry swordsman run in and murder him across his room. He breathed a small sigh of relief and slipped out of his room, taking a peek at the other door. The ribbon was gone and the door was shut, with no sign of Kanda anywhere. Okay, so he at least got the message.

"Hey beansprout!" He hear Lavi's voice calling him and he grumbled.

"It's _Allen._"

Lavi strode up and casually dragged Allen off to where he, Lenalee and Krory were gathered, playing some kind of card game. That was fine by him. He could use the distraction—though he was a little huffy they wouldn't let him play, instead he was the dealer.

"So, didja give it to him?" Lavi asked with a little hint of mirth in his green eye.

"Yes. But I don't think he's going to even acknowledge it."

"We'll see~"

After the first day, Allen became more doubtful.

After the second day, Allen decided Lavi was an idiot.

After the third day, Allen decided he was an idiot.

After the fourth day, Allen finally called Lavi on his failed bet.

On the fifth day, he ran into Kanda—who wasn't looking very please, or rather, was looking like his usual self. "Watch where you're going, beansprout."

"Sorry for _existing_, BaKanda," he snapped back and pushed passed him with a frown. He didn't want to… His eyes caught the glint from the violet jewel by the man's ear. "You're wearing it."

"I don't know what you're talking about, moron."

Allen watched the man briskly leave. The ribbon he'd picked out was laced into his hair and binding it back in its usual place. He wasn't going to even acknowledge the gift, but the fact that he was actually wearing it spoke several volumes all on its own. His ego prevented him from saying a single word, but his actions made it acceptable.

"Whatever, BaKanda," Allen said with a little bit of a smile.


	13. Drown Part One

So late it's not funny, but I will finish this.**  
><strong>

**Day11  
>Theme: Touch<br>**

**Drown**_  
>Part One<em>

No one would believe him if he told them. Probably because all they saw was the face of arrogance and a form that radiated strength, superiority and every other powerful adjective that could be placed to the face of Kanda Yuu. Allen, however, saw the real face; right through the mask and into the soul of a man whose self hatred was stronger than anyone could imagine. His self inflicted wounds were deep ravines etched into the mask, trying—and failing—to protect his heart.

Allen sat with him as he emptied his lungs until the hoarse screams stopped. They were alone. His fingers pulled black locks nearly to the breaking point, just enough to hurt—to burn until he had to let go or risk losing hair. He wouldn't let it get to that point, he had to put the wall back up and pretend he was better than every other motherfucker that even so much as looked at his disgusting face. There was only so much he could curl into himself before he pleaded with himself to just breathe, breathe, breathe, and inhale all the water he could to just drown everything out.

The younger boy next to him wasn't stupid. It wasn't hard to see the deep seated loathing that the man had for the very organization than ran their lives. It wasn't hard to grasp that he had some demons in his closet. He wanted, so badly, to bring light to the man's world—but he knew better than most that the darkness is all consuming if left alone for too long.

Now he was watching him sink. The rain pelted down on them so hard that it felt like needles digging into his skin, but he stayed there for Kanda. He knew that if he left that man alone, they'd find his corpse in the morning—somehow, someway. Neither of them really knew what started this descent this time, but they were riding it out. One holding the life jacket and the other clinging and trying desperately to keep his head above water.

Sometimes, he wasn't sure how to react. Sometimes, he wanted to pull that broken man into an embrace and never let go, but the last thing he needed was to make him angry on top of manic depressive. He just wanted to dig his metaphorical fingers deeper and deeper until he could touch some part of his soul that could drive away the demons. He wanted to drag him into a warm bed and create a bubble for them to lie in until all the suffocating, endless nightmares faded.

His chest constricted when the man's body lurched forward, head hung and helpless. There were no tears, not even hiding in the stinging drops of rain. Kanda Yuu didn't cry, but Allen was sure that if he could…he probably wouldn't stop. Maybe that was why he didn't cry to begin with. When all you know is knife-like stabbing, stinging, burning pain…perhaps you lose the desire to let any part of it show. No matter how much it eats at your heart, etching away your soul like a hammer and chisel.

"I don't need you here," his voice was barely heard through the rain.

"I know you don't."

_But I'm here anyway. _


	14. Drown Part Two

_Day14_  
><em>Theme: Touch<strong><br>**_

**Drown**_  
>Part Two<em>

A single touch had always seemed to stop him in his tracks. Allen noticed it by accident, but he never resisted abusing that simple fact. Sometimes he would simply pass by him and run his hand across the man's back; watching from the corner of his eye at the man who'd stopped dead in the hallway. The man's fist would curl—as if he was trying to decide what to do—but ultimately, he never retaliated.

Other times, his touch was what brought that man back from a dark place and brought him right back into his arms—where he belonged. Ever since the rain—ever since he never left his side—he'd always believed that he could save him from drowning.

Allen was always the optimist. Every touch, kiss, lick, and huskily whispered nothings were some solid, tangible evidence that Kanda at least had his head above water.

So…what had happened?

What had caused him to sink again? Why did he drown? _Figuratively and somewhat literally. _

"Are you going to be okay, Allen?" Lenalee's voice came to him quietly. Her feminine instincts had picked up on them—and what they were.

"I don't know," he admitted, staring over the empty room of the man who would no longer be occupying it. Everything was bare, empty, cold…Yet, there was still that lingering sensation of Kanda.

His fingers trailed along the wooden table, until he came to an hourglass. Kanda's only real possession it seemed. It was clean; dust free and cared for extremely well. He didn't want to leave smudges in the glass, but he wanted to touch it. To feel something real that still symbolized Kanda. The glass was cold to the touch and suddenly he felt like it could shatter at any given moment. Shatter, just like his illusion that Kanda wasn't too far gone to be saved.

The edge of paper caught his finger and he recoiled, eyes glancing between the hourglass and the wall—where a small folded sheet was placed. Curiosity made him open it. Curiosity made him read the words printed in a strangely perfect handwriting.

_If you're reading this,_

_I couldn't breathe anymore_

_I never liked swimming_

_And the water just closed in_

_**You** tried_

_Stupidly so_

_Next time you see me,_

_Feel free to give me a good punch to the face_

The paper dropped to the floor and Allen's eyes hazed over, liquid threatening to spill down his cheeks. It wasn't that he couldn't save him; it was just that he simply hadn't touched him enough. He couldn't stop him enough to keep him from this fate.

A fact that haunted him every day of his life. All he could think about was what he could have done. How could he have reached into him and conveyed his feelings any more than he'd tried. He was young and stupid then, but even as he grew and the years stacked, he couldn't figure out how to touch someone's soul. Or at least not Kanda's. Kanda had never been normal to begin with. Perhaps he didn't have a chance at all. The baggage the older man carried in his heart was probably sinking his ship from the very beginning and it was only a matter of time before he was lost to icy waters and an ocean's dismal depth.

It was no real surprise that he would end up in Kanda's room, years after reading the letter. The folded piece of paper that still remained on the floor—covered in a thick layer of dust and yellowed from age. He picked it up and it threatened to simply crumble in his hand.

He thought about it.

Over and over.

What would he actually say to Kanda if he'd had a chance to go back in time and say something to him? He would have tried so much harder. He would have never let that man out of his sight.

"Idiot," he whispered, lying back on the man's dusty bed. How many people would die in this room, he idly wondered. Closing his eyes, he could already name two.

"_That makes two of us,_" a whisper echoed.

There was nothing after he closed his eyes. It was a void. A warm void of white…or black…or everything—he didn't know. It was like he was blind, but he could feel. He could feel comfortably warm air. After an indefinite amount of time, he tried his eyes again. Opening them to a world of strange unreality. It was like a painting, everything drenched in pastel colors and washed out by a transparent feeling world of light.

_So this is death. No wonder he was eager to jump to it._

"_You're here early, beansprout._"

His head snapped to the side and he stared at the man seated next to him in the warm field. Amidst the plethora of estranged colors was a curtain of black around a familiar face. The longing he'd had for those years was coming back all at once. He turned his body—balling up his fist—and he swung with all of his might. A ripple of pleasure shot through his form as his fist connected to the only other form in his vicinity. He turned his head away, not really reveling in the way Kanda was thrown back on his elbows. He was pleased enough just to feel the pressure and the force that he'd punched that man in the face.

"_I came to deliver that. That's all. Turns out, it was a one way ticket._"

**The End**

* * *

><p><em>AN: This was supposed to be infinitely more depressing, but I didn't want to leave on too horrible of a note and my moyashi would kill me. This is now complete. I will post any other one shots separately, or on my Tumblr, where I will wait until I have enough to compile here. _

_I will be editing all the errors out of this soon. _

_Thanks for reading and reviewing! I love y'all!_


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